


Forward

by Lauren (LaurenThemself)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Critmas Exchange, Critmas Exchange 2020, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Depictions of Surgery, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenThemself/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: Astrid decides to run, Eodwulf follows her, and Caleb's there to aid them, along with his new lover and friends. There are prices to be paid for changing the future, but some are easier to pay than others.
Relationships: Astrid/Eodwulf (Critical Role), Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54
Collections: Critmas Exchange 2020





	Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indefensibleselfindulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/gifts).



> Merry Critmas, indefensibleselfindulgence! I feel like I owe you more smut than what made it into here; I got distracted by the angst I was flinging everywhere. Diverges from canon during "Dinner with the Devil".

What Astrid remembers about the night they ran away: almost nothing. And isn’t that a blessing, when she has so much else to remember and to loathe? One night of kind oblivion.

She remembers feeling as though her brain would burst from the sheer weight of what they were doing, remembers Eodwulf bearing her up as she half-ran, half-stumbled to catch up with Caleb and his friends.

She remembers her heartbeat in her ears, her vision turning to a dull red haze, and how although all of Caleb’s friends had looked at her and Eodwulf warily, even fearfully, the most awful expression among them was the _hope_ in Caleb’s eyes.

After that, not much. The stomach-churning sensation of teleporting. Lying down on a bed, so overcome by the thought of the distance and time between herself and home that she falls asleep quite unthinkingly in a strange house, surrounded by strange people.

Somewhere in the swimming red darkness she feels a cool metal band close around her wrist, and the pool of arcane power she’s known almost all her life is just... gone. Perhaps not entirely gone, but muffled, separated from her.

It’s a relief.

* * *

The next day, though.

Caleb asks her just once if she’s sure and whatever look appears on Astrid’s face must quell any doubt he has. The drow, Herr Thelyss, has a disturbing number of surgical implements, but he also has some very good alcohol. The plain clear stuff goes over Astrid’s forearms. The amber honey-tasting stuff goes down her throat.

“You and I have _so_ much to discuss,” Herr Thelyss says as Eodwulf plants his hands on Astrid’s shoulders, holding her in place in the plain wooden chair. Not quite plain. It has a nice cushion, and it’s beautifully carved for something that was hastily dragged in from the dining room. “Particularly about debt.”

“There are different ways of going to the ends of the world for someone,” Caleb says.

Astrid looks up at Eodwulf, who shrugs one shoulder, and then fixes her gaze straight forward as Herr Thelyss pulls up a little stool beside her chair and bows his head over her left forearm.

Forward.

Forward, the direction she’s always looked. Never back. Only forward, to the next task, the next job, clean or dirty, and when it’s done, forward again, toward the inevitable: Master Ikithon’s death, her own rise to head of the Volstrucker, Eodwulf her second-in-command.

She is not meant to be in Rosohna, in the middle of enemy territory, and she most certainly isn’t meant to be in the home of a drow wizard who—

The alcohol does not utterly dull the rending tug of the first piece of crystal from her flesh. Astrid bites the inside of her lip and manages to remain silent as it drops into a small dish with an unassuming _plink_. Eodwulf squeezes her shoulders, clearly sensing the pain she’s hiding. She feels the press of his iron bracelet against her neck. Neither of them have commented on being cut off from their arcane abilities.

Herr Thelyss moves onto the next crystal, and the next, and Astrid can feel blood beginning to trickle from the wounds. He’s free with the alcohol, which makes her feel as though her arm is on fire and, even when she gives in and digs her fingernails into the wood of the chair’s arm, he doesn’t insult her dignity by asking if she’s all right.

At some point Caleb exits the room, clearly fighting the urge to vomit. If he does it, he does so out of earshot, but Astrid catches a few words as he speaks with someone outside the door before returning.

“—said she had scars like yours, Caleb.”

Astrid thinks it’s the half-orc speaking.

“I did,” Caleb replies. “It was... wishful thinking.”

“Are you going back in?”

“Ja, I have to.”

“ _Ya_ , you know you don’t _have_ to, right? Caleb—” That’s the blue tiefling woman.

“Ich muss es selbst sehen,” Caleb cuts her off, and then he’s back, closing the door behind him.

“I appreciate you wanting to bear witness,” Eodwulf says quietly.

Caleb pauses right in Astrid’s line of sight. Even now, even after everything, he is a much better view than the wall. His russet hair is long enough to be caught back in a small braid, and he looks... _healthy_. Haunted, yes, but it seems that perhaps after years of fighting ghosts he’s beginning to get the upper hand. The smallest of smiles touches his lips.

“Ah, but you do not know that I am staying for your benefit. Perhaps I plan to hurl a firebolt the moment you lower your guard.”

Eodwulf snorts a surprised laugh; Astrid just stares, amazed at Caleb’s capacity for ridicule under the circumstances. Or indeed at all. And joking about _fire_ , in particular?

“No firebolts indoors, thank you,” Herr Thelyss says, doing something with a pair of tweezers that feels as though he’s trying to extract Astrid’s very nerves. She grits her teeth harder and feels Eodwulf’s hands squeezing her shoulders again.

She’s not so foolish as to assume it’s solely for comfort. He has followed her to many places, both literally and metaphorically, and this is a place where he needs to be very sure of the lead she’s setting.

“Of course not, Essek,” Caleb says, and then he’s out of Astrid’s view and she hears a chair scrape, a book open.

Astrid fixes her gaze back on the wall. Herr Thelyss pours another generous quantity of stinging alcohol over her flesh, and continues to extract the little crystals, each piece that falls into the dish symbolic of the life she’s leaving behind.

Or at least that’s what her slightly fuzzy mind thinks. She’s had more than a little of the other alcohol.

* * *

She sleeps wrapped in Eodwulf’s arms as usual that night, despite both of them hurting every time they shift even a little. They’re well balmed and bandaged, but there’s no salve for the soul.

* * *

The next day, Caleb comes and fetches them. Astrid knows he has a house here somewhere, shared with his odd assortment of friends, but she also knows better than to ask exactly where it is just yet.

Rosohna offers unfamiliar but good food. Breakfast is a quiet affair; only toward the end of it does Caleb put down and ask, “What do you two want to do today?”

“Sleep for a month,” Eodwulf says, looking tired to the bones.

“Beau says she will spar with you to keep your body in shape.” Astrid could swear that Caleb looks Eodwulf over with the appreciative gaze that used to precede... well, pleasant interruptions to their study. “She promised not to knock all your teeth out.”

Eodwulf perks up. “She is the monk, ja?”

“She is an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul,” Caleb says, “and if she does decide to knock any of your teeth out, it will be precisely the ones that she wants to.”

Eodwulf doesn’t look at all put off by the threat. Astrid gives him a warning look; Eodwulf just winks at her and glances at Caleb, who misses the exchange entirely.

Beau herself comes ambling up the street as though carefully planned and timed; Astrid notes the copper wire bent into a ring around one of Caleb’s fingers and realizes that of course they’ve got this coordinated. The momentary frustration that he doesn’t trust them enough to be alone with them, even in such a public place, fades when she then realizes that this particular public place is not necessarily the safest for a pair of Volstrucker.

He’s not worried for himself; he’s worried for _them_.

Beau smacks Eodwulf on the shoulder. “Hey. Ready to get your ass kicked?”

Eodwulf rises and bows to her. “It would be my honor.”

“Beauregard,” Caleb says. “Be mindful of his arms.”

There’s not much bandage visible at Eodwulf’s cuff, but it’s there. Beau looks at it and nods; she doesn’t look surprised and Astrid wonders how much Caleb told her about the previous day’s proceedings. She already senses that the two of them have formed a strong bond.

“I’ll stick to breaking the bits of him that aren’t already broken,” Beau says.

“That doesn’t leave much,” Eodwulf mutters.

Beau punches his shoulder. “Shut up and come with me.” Her eyes flicker to Caleb. “And you two?”

“Clothes shopping,” Caleb says unexpectedly, and Astrid raises an eyebrow. “The weather is very different here.”

No. It’s less the weather and more the fact that Empire clothing sticks out here like an open invitation to questioning. They’ve been given some very basic attire, but they’re going to need things that fit better; Astrid’s shirt is a little too big and smells significantly of sugar.

Beau leads Eodwulf away, presumably to some sort of training grounds or at least a nice empty alley. Caleb rises to his feet and makes a gesture to offer Astrid his arm; she reaches out and her own arm throbs with pain.

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. I’m all right.”

But she lowers her hands to her sides, and stays a few inches away.

* * *

They do go shopping. Astrid’s able to select items for Eodwulf of the right size with ease, and eventually persuades herself to try a few things on for herself, despite not wanting to look at herself in the mirror. Her arms are still carefully wrapped, but knowing what’s underneath still makes it difficult.

“You and Wulf are still together,” Caleb says as they cross the street from one shop to another.

“ _Some_ bonds don’t break.”

Caleb gives her an expressionless look. “Is that what you think?”

Astrid doesn’t answer immediately and watches his eyes lower to the ground. She’s not trying to make him anxious, though; she’s pondering her answer.

“I don’t think you broke it of your own volition, Bren.”

“Caleb.” His voice is curt. “Caleb Widogast.”

“Caleb. I’m sorry.”

She can’t quite believe that she’s here, feeling as though she’s had bits of her soul pulled out, clothes shopping with her former lover, while wearing a shirt that smells as though it’s been washed in cinnamon.

“You’ll learn,” Caleb says. “I did.”

* * *

Caleb ends up carrying the bags, and there are quite a few by the time they’re finished. Smallclothes, coats, and everything in between; a bag of pastries that they’re relieved of by Jester, who just happens to be strolling across the street a few moments after they come out of the bakery; more balm and soft bandages.

“Are you hurting much?” Caleb asks. “I think Essek did well, but it’s still... a process.”

"He's got good hands," Astrid says, fighting the urge to scratch her forearms.

Caleb almost smiles. "Ja, he does."

Astrid knows the look in his eyes, and catches his wrist, pulling him to a halt. "Br-Caleb. _Caleb_. Are you—"

The words he doesn't say, say it all to her.

What he does say, after an awkward silence, is, "I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologize." Astrid turns his hand over, runs her fingertips up his forearm, gloved fingers pushing his sleeve up. "Did he..."

"No," Caleb says shortly. "I did my own."

Astrid thinks of how it had hurt, how each sliver and fragment of crystal coming loose had tugged at her soul, and how she'd been so close to tearing herself free from Essek's patient hands and walking out. She has scars but, thanks to Essek's care, the ones on her forearms will be the least of them. Caleb's arms look like he took to them with a blunt dagger, or possibly his teeth. Probably he did. Probably he had to.

Caleb's watching her patiently. "Have you looked enough?"

Astrid pulls his sleeve back down and brings his knuckles to her mouth; he doesn't pull away from the light brush of her lips. "You know full well I could never look at you enough, Caleb Widogast," she says, and his cheeks go pink the way she remembers.

* * *

By the time they get back to Essek’s abode, Astrid’s weary to her core. They’ve done a lot of walking, but that’s not all of it; it feels like her energy is leaching out of her arms.

Eodwulf’s waiting for them outside the gates, sporting a fresh bruise on his right cheek and looking rather pleased about it. Beau’s nowhere to be seen; instead, his escort is the pink-haired firbolg. Astrid struggles to find his name, can’t, and is frustrated that her usually quick memory seems to be stumbling so much.

“Caduceus,” Caleb says. “Will you come in?”

“Sure. There’s not much of a garden to speak of, so we may as well be inside.”

The estate isn’t paved right to the street the way some are, there’s still some greenery, but Caduceus clearly doesn’t consider that to be sufficient. Astrid catches the way that Caleb’s eyes look up and away; following the direction of his gaze, she sees a tall tree that, unless she misses her guess, is atop a building.

Interesting.

Then Caleb’s leading the three of them in, and Herr Thelyss opens the door as though he’s been waiting for some minutes. They go through into a much more comfortable room than the one from the day before, and Caduceus settles into the middle of a wide sofa.

“Sit with me, please,” he asks Astrid and Eodwulf in his lovely mellow voice. Caleb and Herr Thelyss are already settling in chairs across from the sofa, so there’s not a lot of choice in the matter, unless they choose to remain standing.

Astrid sits. Eodwulf follows her lead.

“Caduceus is a cleric. He offered to help heal your wounds.” Caleb has shrugged his coat off and pushed his own sleeves up, putting his scars on display. “There’s only so much that balm can do even under the best circumstances. Mine were not the best circumstances.”

“Magical healing can fix your skin right up, and if there are any last chunks of anything in there, I should be able to get them out.” Caduceus offers his hands, palm up, on his knees. “If you consent, of course.”

Astrid looks down at her hands and picks at the bandages peeking out from her sleeves. Eodwulf begins to push his sleeves up, and then hesitates.

“Will it heal without scarring?” he asks.

Caduceus shrugs. “Most likely. I’ve hardly ever seen magical healing leave a scar.”

Astrid takes one of his big soft hands and brings it to the burn scar on her neck, letting him feel the thick rippled skin. “This was healed magically,” she says. “What do you think of that?”

His eyes look into hers; they’re deep and soft and soothing, like everything else about him. She is unused to feeling soothed, feeling comfortable. “I think maybe there’s a story behind why you chose to keep it,” he says slowly and softly, and Astrid knows that he feels her stiffen at the remark. “You don’t have to justify it. I think I can do the same for your arms. Fix the damage, but leave the marks.” His gentle fingers begin to unwind her bandages, bumping the iron bracelet, which he doesn’t comment on. “Oh. Huh. Will the tattoos be enough of a reminder?”

Astrid rarely feels fear, but it’s scary how insightful he is.

“No.”

Caduceus nods, clasping her forearm between his warm palms. Astrid looks over at Caleb, who looks back impassively; looks at Eodwulf, who seems to not have heard the exchange between herself and Caduceus.

The healing feels as though sunshine has passed through her flesh. Astrid looks down to see that the marks left by the excised crystals have faded from the fresh red they were moments ago to dull pink, as though they’re years and years old, like her face and neck. The black of her tattoos stands out even more starkly against her skin now.

She offers her other arm before Caduceus even asks and the procedure repeats. Again, it’s with a sensation of soothing warmth that Astrid hasn’t felt in a long time. Not even the comfort of Eodwulf’s arms in the bed that they share quite matches it. It’s as though something has recognized the darkness in her and, instead of shying away, has reached out to try to light up whatever might be within that darkness.

There’s far more to it than that, though.

“Thank you,” she says, and Caduceus nods, turning to Eodwulf.

Astrid rises from the sofa and perches herself on the arm of Caleb’s chair without even thinking twice, the same as she did a hundred, a thousand times when they were young. She holds her arm out beside his, and Herr Thelyss leans over to examine them side by side.

Aside from her tattoos, they look far more similar now, save for the fact that her scars are far more delicate thanks to Herr Thelyss’s careful ministrations. By comparison, Caleb’s are thicker, more jagged, uglier.

“Did he ever offer to heal your scars?” she murmurs.

“He knew I didn’t want them gone,” Caleb says in the same low tone.

Astrid can hear Caduceus’s low voice rumbling and knows he’s making the same offer to Eodwulf as he had to her; she doesn’t need to hear Wulf’s words to know he’s making the same choice.

Herr Thelyss runs his fingertips along Caleb’s forearm, feeling the ridged scars, and then hovers his hand over Astrid’s forearm.

“May I?”

“Go ahead.”

His fingers test the difference in the texture of their skin quickly and efficiently. “Caleb won’t tell me how he removed his,” he says almost too casually.

“And will not, Essek, no matter how often you ask.”

“There we have it,” Caduceus says, letting go of Eodwulf’s arm. “I like the scars.” He’s _definitely_ speaking too casually, but Astrid doesn’t think he’s being facetious. “It can be a good thing, to remember the past. To let it guide us on our path forward.” He rises to his feet. “Are you coming home now, Caleb?”

“I will be a while longer. We have a lot to discuss about magic.”

Caduceus nods, says, “Thank you for the opportunity to test out targeted healing,” and meanders out before Astrid can pull together the words to protest that this healing wasn’t just another _experiment_.

Eodwulf lets out a long sigh when the front door closes, and Astrid pulls her arm free of Herr Thelyss’s gentle grasp, rejoining Eodwulf on the sofa, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

“It’s not over,” he says, pressing his face against the side of her neck.

“But it’s begun to be,” Astrid counters.

She receives one of the biggest shocks of her life when the sofa cushions dip and Caleb presses up against Eodwulf’s back, his arms going as far around the pair of them as he can manage. Caleb’s never been a heavily built man, but it seems he’s recovered considerably from his time in the sanatorium and whatever came after. Even so, Eodwulf _has_ always been heavily built, and so it’s difficult for Caleb to get his arms right around them both.

“How did you do it alone, Bren?” Eodwulf asks, his muffled voice holding a sob. “No help, no healer...”

“With difficulty.”

“His name is Caleb now, Wulf,” Astrid says, and Caleb shoots her a surprised, pleased look.

“I’ll remember.” Eodwulf sighs shakily. “I’ll try.”

“I know.”

The sofa shifts again; this time it’s Herr Thelyss settling onto the arm behind Caleb, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You seem to attract war criminals, Caleb Widogast,” he says.

Caleb lifts his head and chuckles. “I think that is the pot calling the kettle black.”

“What did you do?” Astrid asks, beginning to stroke Eodwulf’s hair.

“What did _you_ do?” Herr Thelyss counters.

“I think if we are to get along under the same roof, there are some things we won’t speak about at length.” Caleb’s voice has a definite note of finality in it.

Astrid puts her other hand on Caleb’s forearm. “As you wish.”

Eodwulf’s shoulders are shaking. Caleb’s arms tighten around him.

“I will emulate your firbolg friend’s method of comforting people and make some tea,” Herr Thelyss says.

“Thank you, Herr Thelyss,” Astrid says.

“Essek, please. If you’re staying here—”

“They are,” Caleb says from where he’s got his chin on Eodwulf’s shoulder, the same way he would if Eodwulf were sitting with his nose in a book and Caleb wanted his attention.

“—then I insist we drop the formalities.”

Astrid notices that he glides out of the room rather than walking, but her attention is rather more drawn to the men with her, Eodwulf in particular. He’s still shaking as though he’s got a fever.

“Wulf, if you’re going to cry, don’t do it on Jester’s shirt, please.”

That draws a small laugh from him, but Astrid thinks that the reason his body begins to settle, to still, is not the witticism but being enfolded between the two of them. How many nights had they spent this way, taking turns in the middle, sometimes just to sleep, sometimes to make love, not yet aware of the dire request that would be made of them?

Now _she’s_ shaking, and Eodwulf says something to Caleb that she doesn’t quite catch, and Caleb rises to curl in behind her instead, putting her in the middle.

She _does_ catch the small kiss that Caleb presses to the top of Eodwulf’s head.

“You know that this doesn’t undo the last sixteen years,” she says.

Caleb slides one hand down her arm from elbow to wrist. “Nothing I have yet discovered can undo the past,” he says. “All I can do is keep looking.”

“All we can do is move _forward_.” Astrid hears her own words snap out and her breath hitching.

“Astrid,” Eodwulf says softly. “We can look to the past to guide us into the future. It’s how we learn.”

Essek comes back in with a tea tray and looks at the three of them for a long moment before setting it down on the small ornate table between the sofa and the chairs.

“Should I leave you alone?” he asks.

“No.” Caleb unwinds himself from the other two, rises, and kisses him. Astrid hears a small sound of surprise before the drow relaxes and returns the kiss.

“I gather we’re not keeping our relationship a secret from them, then.”

“Essek, you know they’d realize the very first time that I stayed the night.”

“Oh, are you still noisy in bed, Caleb?” Eodwulf asks, eyes glittering with amusement rather than tears.

Caleb goes beet red, which doesn’t go at all well with his hair. “I _meant_ because it’s not exactly common for a student to pass a night in his teacher’s house,” he says with all the dignity that he can muster, which is exactly none.

Essek pours tea for them all and, as he raises the cup to his lips, says, “Yes, Eodwulf, actually he is.”

Caleb summons Frumpkin to give himself something to hide his face in.

* * *

It’s difficult for the first six or seven days in particular.

Astrid dreams nightly of that dinner, so carefully prepared; her parents convulsing, falling to the floor, mouths stretched into rictus grins even as their eyes rolled in agony. 

Eodwulf scratches his arms until they bleed in spite of the magical healing, until Astrid rebandages them and orders him to stop it.

Astrid loses time, staring at herself in reflective surfaces until her face twists into something she no longer recognizes as herself. The flames creep in around the edge of her vision. She feels the heat in her skin, not Caduceus’s warm healing, but the embers that had rained down on her, the one that had caught her collar on fire.

Eodwulf comes back from a sparring session with Beau one day, limping; when Astrid questions him, he explains that she nearly broke his kneecap freeing herself from his choke-hold when he didn’t respond to her tapping out.

Astrid bolts from the table one night when there are mushrooms in their dinner.

Eodwulf starts going for a run last thing before bed in the hope that his physical exhaustion will quiet his brain.

Astrid sleeps with her back to the wall.

Eodwulf props a chair under the doorhandle each night.

* * *

“Does the guilt ever go away?” Astrid asks Caleb.

“That depends on how badly you want to atone.”

“Does the guilt ever go away?” Astrid asks Essek.

“That depends on how guilty you felt in the first place.”

* * *

Caleb continues to visit most days, sometimes bringing others of the Mighty Nein with him, but usually not. Whatever they were intending to do before Astrid had cried out for them to wait and bolted out of the gate after them has been put on hold, but not entirely; there are still plans brewing.

Part of those plans involve more study. It seems Caleb was telling the truth about Essek being his teacher, although when Astrid listens to them talk it sounds as much like Caleb’s teaching Essek new ideas as the other way around. 

The first time that they speak about dunamancy she reaches for a quill and scribbles half a page of notes for Master Ikithon before throwing both page and quill into the fire.

Most of what they do, apart from avoiding prolonged, deep and meaningful conversations, is recuperate. Eodwulf getting beaten up daily by Beau is but one form that that takes; Astrid takes it upon herself to alter their purchased clothing so that it fits correctly rather than going out to find a tailor, which involves a good deal of swearing as she rediscovers her (in)ability with a needle and thread.

“Why are you letting me stay in here with you?” she asks Essek bluntly one afternoon when Caleb has excused himself to the privy. “You know what I am. How do you know I’m not going to take all your secrets back to the Empire?”

Essek looks over at the fireplace. “I assumed after you burned one quill that you’d decided against that. Burned feathers have a very distinctive smell.”

Astrid doesn’t mention that she’s smelled far worse things burning. “I could be memorizing your words.”

“Astrid, you don’t have to tell me what you could be doing. If you were memorizing the things that Caleb and I are saying, you would still be threading that needle, not hemming your skirt.”

“Do you thread Caleb’s needle?” Astrid asks, miffed enough at the idea that she can’t focus on two things simultaneously that she resorts to vulgarity.

Essek merely raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you remember his preference?”

She does. Very well.

“It’s been a long time... it might have changed.”

“What’s changed, Astrid?” Caleb asks, rejoining them. “Your degree of capability with a needle?”

Astrid, caught between the literal truth and the entendre, takes a sip from her glass of water to avoid answering. She can hear Essek laughing very quietly.

“This is what mending is for,” she mutters.

“Do you want your bracelet off so you can do that without pricking your fingers?”

Astrid stares at Caleb. “Of course not.”

“That, Astrid, is how I know,” Essek says.

Caleb looks from Astrid to Essek and back to Astrid. “I don’t suppose either of you are going to tell me what you’re really saying.”

“No,” the two of them chorus.

Caleb mutters something in a language that neither of them comprehends beyond its intent as an obscenity and sits back down; soon, he and Essek are lost in their work again.

* * *

After that little trade of banter, Astrid makes a point of spending more time with Essek, whether or not Caleb’s in the house. She wants to know whether, just hypothetically, there’s still room for them in Caleb’s life. More to the point, she wants to know if Essek’s amenable to sharing, and whether he’ll address the issue head-on or wait for someone else to raise the subject.

When it turns out to be the latter, Astrid gets annoyed.

“We’re not entitled to have everything immediately work out for us just because we’re trying to put our old lives behind us,” Eodwulf points out to her one afternoon. “We need to put in the work and time.”

“I’m moving forward,” Astrid says. “I’m learning from the past. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

“I don’t think it was meant to be about working out the best way to try to win over Caleb’s new lover.”

“Is _that_ what you think this is about?”

“Are you trying to win _Caleb_ over? Or back?”

“Hey,” Beau says. “Firstly, I said no Zemnian while we’re sparring. Secondly—”

 _Secondly_ turns out to be a smack to the side of Astrid’s head that makes her ears ring. She forgets everything Beau’s been trying to teach her and lashes out, palm open ready to deliver a firebolt; all she gets is Beau grabbing her wrist and flipping her readily over.

Astrid lands flat on her back in the sawdust of the training ring and stares up at the trees that lean in over the wall on three sides.

Beau stands over her, offering a hand up. “You want to try that again?”

“Not really.”

It’s not as though Astrid doesn’t have _some_ physical training; Volstrucker are rarely trained only in a single discipline. It’s just that, when put up against a woman who has dedicated her life to honing her physical perfection, Astrid is reasonably certain that she’s going to be going home with sawdust in her hair more often than not. 

Still, she’s grateful for the opportunity to get out of the house. As much as she, on some level, enjoys watching Essek trying to figure out whether she’s trying to do something duplicitous or just genuinely interested in getting to know the man who’s hosting her better, sometimes she feels like she’s being scrutinized right back.

Not to mention that Eodwulf thinks she’s tempting fate and is going to get them both kicked out onto the street if she plays too many mind games.

“Astrid, you’re not paying attention to me,” Beau says, grabbing Astrid under the armpits and hoisting her to her feet. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t want to learn, okay? But at least have the courtesy to tell me I’m wasting my time.”

Astrid punches her in the face. Or at least, she tries to. Beau catches her hand mid-air and flips her neatly to the ground once more.

“That’s better,” she says as Astrid lies there panting. “Try that a couple more times. I’m starting to think you care about something after all.”

Astrid grabs Beau’s ankle and must surprise her _just_ enough, because a hard tug sends Beau sprawling into the sawdust beside her.

“I care more than you’ll ever understand.” She rolls, sits on Beau’s stomach, and makes ready to punch her in the face. “I care so—”

Beau catches Astrid’s hands and holds them between hers. “I know,” she says in as gentle a voice as Astrid’s ever heard coming from her. “Caleb and me... we’re the Empire kids. He’s told me... enough. I just want you to start caring in the right direction, okay?”

“You made me mad on purpose?”

“Yeah, kinda did.”

Astrid twists her hands free of Beau’s with a quick turn of her wrists. _Nobody_ makes Volstrucker mad on purpose. If anyone knows they’re around, they’re particularly careful not to make _anyone_ mad, just in case it turns out they’ve annoyed the wrong person. There are tales told about them to make little children behave, for gods’ sake.

“Is it because of the bracelet?” she demands. “Did you think you’d be safe from me without my magic?”

Beau looks at her blankly. “What bracelet?”

Astrid thrusts her wrist into Beau’s line of vision. “This. The magic dampener. Didn’t you wonder why we never fight with magic?”

“Nah. Caleb said you were here to learn to fight dirty. I trust him, and he trusts you enough to not fuck me over.” Her gaze slides sideways to Eodwulf, who’s unthinkingly rubbing his kneecap. “I know how to take care of myself. But he put bracelets on you so you can’t cast spells?”

“I think Essek’s responsible for the actual bracelets,” Eodwulf says. “But it was probably Caleb’s idea.”

Beau nods; sawdust scatters out of her hair. “Seems like his kind of preventative. Have you _tried_ casting?”

“It hurts,” Astrid says, and Beau takes that for an answer without further questioning.

“All right. Attractive as you are, Astrid, you’ve got to get off of me so we can finish this session.” She touches the bracelet briefly. “This is nice. Well-forged. Up you get.”

Astrid’s taken aback by the attractiveness comment and doesn’t react fast enough; Beau does something complicated involving her hips and Astrid falls sideways. She goes into an easy shoulder roll and springs back to her feet, and Beau nods approvingly, which still looks weird as she’s lying down.

“Nicely done. At least you’ve learned how to fall.”

Astrid thinks about the circumstances under which she learned—a bed built for two containing three people, and someone rolling at an inopportune moment—and feels herself blush. If Beau notices, she chalks it up to exertion, because she says nothing.

* * *

Beau takes them to a bathhouse after, by way of an apology for all the sawdust in everyone’s hair, although Astrid can see Beau looking at their arms and knows it for the ulterior motive it is.

“Here.” She slides along the underwater bench to Beau, holding out her arm to the other woman. “Just look. You might as well.”

Beau grasps her arm in strong but gentle hands and traces the tattoos and scars with one short-nailed fingertip. “Are the tattoos something that happens after the crystals?” she asks.

The room is private, just the three of them. “The tattoos were something that I wanted.”

She’d wanted something to turn the odd protrusions into something that looked arcane and mystical, instead of bizarre pox scars or something. She’d wanted them to _look_ like part of something bigger, not just _be_ part of something bigger.

“Jess is pretty good with tattoos,” Beau says. “If you ever get sick of that pattern. Or... we have this friend who can imbue them with magic.” She releases Astrid’s arm and turns her back to Astrid, displaying the tattoo that adorns her upper back and shoulders and extends up her neck. Even with her ability to sense magic currently dampened, Astrid can tell that the piece holds power.

“Why would you tell us all this?” Eodwulf asks, ducking his head under the water to rinse it for the fourth or fifth time. “You know what we are.”

Beau looks back over her shoulder at him. “And I know what you did,” she adds on. “I don’t know how you did it, but I can guess.” Her gaze shifts to Astrid. “And poisoning. And...” She reaches out and touches Astrid’s burn scar. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry_?” Eodwulf would probably stomp over to her and shake her by the shoulders, but a hot tub isn’t the most conducive locale to angry stomping. “Fräulein Lionett, we spent _years_ being honed into what we are.”

“Yeah? Caleb spent years running from it, then coming to terms with it—I think, kinda—and as soon as you yelled out for him to wait, he did. Because he knows what you went through, and he thinks there’s redemption or some shit possible for you.” Beau turns back around to face them, folding her arms over her chest. “And if you don’t get your shit together yourselves, I think he’d be just as happy to turn you in for a reward. Ever heard of the Dungeon of Penance? They’re not a big fan of scourgers.”

Eodwulf tilts his head as he listens to her. Then: “I think you’re lying.”

“No, no, they definitely hate scourgers.”

“I don’t think Caleb would send us there, nor collect any bounty on our heads.”

“You sure? He spends a _lot_ of money on fancy paper and ink.”

Astrid starts laughing. It’s not a sound that comes easily to her. “She’s joking, Wulf.” She puts her hands on Beau’s shoulders and ducks her under the water; Beau comes up sputtering but laughing, with a _you got me_ expression on her face.

It’s then that Astrid begins to quite like her, rather than merely tolerating her.

* * *

They finish bathing, dry off, and clean their clothes as best as they can before dressing again. Eodwulf is clearly uncomfortable at being nude in front of a woman other than Astrid, but Beau laughs when she realizes.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have anything I’m interested in.”

Eodwulf looks insulted for a moment before Beau looks openly at Astrid. Astrid retaliates by taking her sweet time drying herself off, until Beau looks flustered and excuses herself from the dressing room.

“You have such a taste for torture,” Eodwulf observes; he’s dressed from the waist down, but it’s still evident that he enjoyed her little show.

Astrid flinches.

“Oh, Scheiße. Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe.” Eodwulf picks up another clean towel and wraps her up in it, pulling her into his arms.

“Stop it,” Astrid says. Eodwulf half pulls away; Astrid wraps her arms around his waist. “Not _that_. The Zemnian. We look out of place enough as it is. We don’t need to sound it as well.”

Eodwulf squeezes her closer, kissing the top of her head and then her cheek. “Let’s go home and not talk at all,” he whispers before his lips find hers, warm and familiar.

Astrid lets both towels drop and slides her hands down to his ass, and they very nearly don’t wait until they get home, until a pointed cough from outside alerts them to the fact that Beau is still outside and can hear them.

“Come on, you two. We need to get you home. I have training to get to.”

“You just trained with us,” Astrid protests, peeling Eodwulf’s hand off her breast.

Beau laughs, not unkindly. “Training with you is like wrestling with puppies, no offence. I’m not bleeding or bruised.”

Astrid dresses quickly; Eodwulf pulls his shirt on, leaving it untucked. Astrid glances at him and giggles; she sounds like a young woman again, but then again, he looks exactly like a young man trying to conceal an untimely physical reaction. She’s very familiar with that reaction from both him and Br- _Caleb_.

After he clasps his cloak over it and pulls the hood up, he could be wearing anything under there.

* * *

Beau drops them off at the door to Essek’s home and Astrid uses the key they’ve been given to quietly unlock the door and let the two of them into the front hall. They both sit down on the bench there long enough to remove their boots, and then Eodwulf picks Astrid up, pinning her easily to the wall. Astrid wraps her arms and legs around him and lets him kiss her thoroughly.

“We should at least take this upstairs,” Astrid gasps between kisses.

They do peer into the study to make sure it’s unoccupied; the fire is cold and the room is empty.

“Probably shopping for all that special paper and ink,” Eodwulf says.

“Ruby dust and phosphorus,” Astrid agrees, leading the way up the stairs.

Their room is at the end of the hall, whether to make it harder for them to sneak out past Essek or just so he can’t hear them at night—not that there’s been anything to hear aside from nightmare screams—Astrid hasn’t asked. 

The door to Essek’s room is closed.

And Caleb’s pleading behind it.

“Bitte, es ist zu viel—”

He sounds like he’s in deep torment.

A scatter of images come into Astrid’s mind all at once—Essek continuing Ikithon’s work with the new shards of residuum, forcing them into Caleb’s arms, having rendered him helpless with one of the antimagic bracelets, carrying on the legacy that they’ve all fled.

She tries the handle. It’s locked. Eodwulf takes three paces back and then kicks at the door beside the lock, putting as much momentum as he can into it. The door swings open and Eodwulf stumbles into the room, going to his knees.

Astrid looks down at him, then up and past him, and realizes that she has made a very inaccurate assumption as to the reasoning behind Caleb’s pleas.

There _is_ a metal ring involved, but it’s around the base of Caleb’s cock, which looks painfully hard and is trickling precome. He’s bound to the bed, and his cheeks are flaming as red as his hair, right down his neck to his chest. Essek is kneeling between Caleb’s splayed-out thighs, and it is very evident that whatever Caleb was protesting was too much was not, in fact, some form of torture.

Not the unpleasant kind, anyway.

“Knocking first would have been polite,” Essek says mildly. Astrid can only imagine his level of self-control to sound that composed. Caleb is attempting to hide his face in his own armpit and not at all succeeding.

“He was—he sounded—”

“I don’t for a second believe that you two aren’t familiar with bedroom bondage.” Essek leans forward to whisper in Caleb’s ear; Astrid rakes her gaze over his naked body with hunger, even as Caleb lets out a whimper. Oh, she _does_ remember that noise in this context, and it makes her feel hot all over.

Eodwulf’s on his feet by now, one arm going around her waist. “Come on,” he says urgently. “Leave them be.”

“No,” Caleb cuts them off quietly.

“What?”

“I believe what Caleb meant was that he’d like to extend an invitation for you to join him,” Essek says smoothly.

“...” says Eodwulf.

“Are we joining _just_ him?” Astrid asks.

“It _is_ my bedroom.” Essek sits back on his heels, clearly aware of Astrid’s eyes eating up every bit of bare skin she can see. “I’m afraid I’m part of the deal.”

Astrid steps into the room. Eodwulf follows her.

**Author's Note:**

> Zemnian translations:
> 
> Ich muss es selbst sehen. = I have to see for myself.  
> Oh, Scheiße. Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe. Oh, shit. I'm sorry, my love.  
> Bitte, es ist zu viel. = Please, it's too much.
> 
> If any of these are wrong, I accept polite corrections, as Google Translate only gets me so far.
> 
> The antimagic bracelets are made of iron because iron powder or filings is the material component for Antimagic Field.


End file.
